The sun is shining and the tin soldier marches on. Its body filled with reminant emotions.
In its belly sits fear, with her swollen belly and sunken eyes. Waiting for her inevitable and poetic demise.
But alongside fear sits empathy, unmoved. Dressed in his neutral uniform, blending in well with his walls.
Somewhere in the back hope is waiting, singing, bouncing and alive. The others turn to look and feel its too early for hope to begin beaming. The day has just started, this tin soldier has just started moving, the sun is shining just enough hope down for them. It's pretencious for hope to begin dancing.
Always best to stay quiet before the attack.
In the front sits wisdom; stoic, cracking under the bright sunlight. She's seen many battles and has no use for hope or fear. Her battles are fought with a silent knowledge of the future, a mutual agreement with death.
And in the heel sits heartbreak. Planting her feet firmly to the ground, she understands she is weak, but knows te outcome of these wordless companions. She knows that once the clash has begun, they'll all seek her and ask the infinite question, "why?"
So she must remain unseen, hidden and protected until she is needed to fill this tin soldier's cavity.
Because, she'll say, when the soldier went to battle, you kept to your stations.
Hope let fear's belly burst open and was drown out by the cries.
Wisdom did not lend a hand to empathy and he faded so far into his wall, he engulfed the soldier.
And here you all are now.
But the sun is still shining, and maybe tomorrow the tin soldier shall prevail.